Behind the Façade
by No Longer a Phan
Summary: What is really in Erik's past?
1. Introduction

Disclaimer; not mine.

Dedicated to a friend known as fool's cheese on for getting a fan fiction account and playing the Sims 2, which ultimately inspired this, on the same day. This is what kept distracting me. Sorry if I got boring :D

…

Rain thundered down on Rebecca as she raced through the streets. Her wet red hair was plastered to her neck and face. She was crying, but no one would notice, as it was both nighttime and raining- but she had no home to go to anymore. Rebecca's green eyes darted around, looking for something, for anything. In her arms, her five-year-old son slept in her arms.

"Mama?" he murmured, slowly opening his large black eyes. Rebecca smiled down at her son, gently stroking his hair.

"Shh, Mon ange," She whispered, "it's alright, Erik, go back to sleep." The little boy didn't argue, closing his eyes once again.

Rebecca wished it were alright. No man in France would marry a pregnant widow with one son.

…

"Ah Rebecca. Do come in." Rebecca unwillingly obeyed, walking in. She was completely drenched, out of breath, pale, and hungry. Her son, Erik, didn't seem much better except he was asleep, breathing slowly and shallowly.

"Now Rebecca," The man said, "If this is too work, some things will have to change." Rebecca nodded slowly, solemnly. She knew Carlos too well to trust him, but she also knew she had no other choice.

"I know…" She whispered. Carlos grinned with his yellow teeth, chuckling. His pot belly rocked as he did, and his eyebrows, already at an intense tilt, tilted a bit more, giving him an even more sinister look, if that was even possible at this point.

"Good," he said with a sleazy voice, "Now remember, no matter what you will have to listen to everything I say. No matter what. This is a big favor for you to ask, so remember that when you speak to me."

"Alright, Carlos," Rebecca said weakly, her voice wavering as tears pricked her eyes. _I'm sorry._

"Don't give me that," Carlos snapped, "Stop grieving for Davet- I will have none of that."

"I'm sorry Carlos," Rebecca sighed, "I won't." Carlos grinned with his yellow teeth again, frightening her more than when he was angry.

"That's better," he laughed.

Rebecca bit her lip. She could only hope that 'some things' wouldn't hurt her more than help her.


	2. 1 In The Dark

Disclaimer; not mine.

…

Water dripped down the dark brick walls like the slow precession of time. Light came only from a few select candles off in the distance. Silence echoed over an overly big puddle that ranged into a pond, even a small lake, and the cold had come to stay, taking with it darkness.

"Boy!" A harsh voice called out, "get me a bottle of Italian imported!"

"Yes sir!" A young voice called back. It was deep and growing deeper, energetic and strong. This voice which called was velvety soft and lovely (and has melted the hearts of millions of crazeh phans…), which seemed to enchant the air with its smoothness.

This voice was Erik's. He had lived in the cellars for ten years now, storing wine and cheeses and retrieving them later. Erik had grown to like the dark, preferring the shadows to the light that came when Carlos opened the door almost twenty feet up to yell at him some order.

Erik snatched a bottle of the Italian Imported wine, checking to see if it was old enough. Of the few candles he had spaced around the cellars, he kept only one near the bottles so he could read the labels. Aside from that, he kept the candles only as close as the needed to be- only close enough to flicker at his feet so he could see where he walked.

"Faster, boy!" Carlos snapped, tapping his foot impatiently by the door. Erik plopped the bottle in a basket attached to a pulley and pulled down the rope, lifting the bottle into the air until it had gone a story or two up, reaching Carlos at the doorway.

"Took you long enough," Carlos grumbled, "Well, here's your food anyway." Carlos threw a small roll into the air. Erik caught the falling bread.

"Thank you sir!" Erik called as Carlos shut the door. Taking his dinner, merely a handful of wheat, Erik picked his way over to his bed, jumped onto his bed and began biting away at his only meal of the day.

Ten years he had lived like this- nothing but a bed, several candles and other odd otts and dotts to call his own. He had spent ten years sorting bottles, cheeses and other things Carlos sent down and spitting them back up at his whim.

Ten years is a long time to do nothing, so Erik found ways to entertain himself- he stacked empty bottles in peculiar ways, he arranged the candles to suit his mood. Erik was even lucky enough to stumble across the occasional piece of paper and pencil- he once even found a pad with a lot of paper torn out- the endless hours sketching in that were golden to him.

Of course, there was one other thing he did, which he told no one- or wouldn't have if he had anyone to tell- that gave him more joy than anything. During the dark of night, Erik would creep over to a forgotten harpsichord and play it. He had taught himself from what he could manage, clinging to any scrap of music he could find. Erik had tuned the harpsichord so it only played quietly- if Carlos caught him playing, surely the penalty would be great.

By now Erik had scuffed down his food, ignoring his still hungry stomach. Stretching out on the bed, Erik stared into the darkness, cut by the occasional flicker of a candle. His mind slowly began to relax, mulling over nothing in particular.

Slowly, in his unaware state, the topic of why crossed his mind. His brain, feeling numb, idly investigated the topic for him. _Why am I down here?_ Erik's mind began to churn, to bother him again. _Go away._ But his mind would not. Finally he could not ignore it, and began to really fully think about it. _Carlos put me down here for a reason, and it was more than just to sort bottles. But why? Did he feel_-

"ERIK!" noise exploded into the cavern. Erik leapt out of bed as woke up, accidentally knocking over a candle, extinguishing it. In a few more clever moves, he knocked down four out of his seven candles. By the time he made it over to the bottles, he only had one candle still going.

"Y-yes sir?" Erik stammered, exhausted and shocked.

"Bring me some French, and stop sleeping on the job!" Carlos barked. Erik fumbled through the different bottles until he found what he was fairly certain was the right one. Still stumbling, Erik sprinted over to the pulley and dropped the bottle in, knocking over his last candle.

"Faster, you idiot!" Carlos ordered him. Erik pulled the French wine up to him as fast as his half-asleep arms could go. "Finally." Carlos turned to leave.

"Please, sir! Wait!" Erik cried. Carlos turned slowly. "May have a match, sir?" Carlos was silent. "Please," Erik pleaded, "All of my candles…"

"To hell with your bloody candles!" Carlos screamed, "I'm not the one who knocked them all over!"

"But sir…" Erik knew it was hopeless, but somehow he still needed to get light.

"_But nothing!_" Carlos screeched, "_How _DARE _you pester me with your pettish demands_!"

"You can't leave me here in the dark!" Erik entreated his master. Again, Carlos paused.

"I can't, can I?" he asked softly, before roaring, "I SHALL LEAVE YOU DOWN HERE UNTIL _YOU_ HAVE LEARNED YOUR PLACE! _IN THE DARK_!" Carlos slammed the door for all it was worth and stormed away.

"Carlos no! You can't do this!" Erik shouted at the closed door, "For goodness sake it's a match!" Erik hurled himself at the wall, as if it in itself could aid him.

As Erik attacked the wall, no one told him to stop. No one tried to hold him back, saying that he'd hurt himself or that he'd be ok. No one had ever told him that it would be ok; no one ever held him or comforted him, not for a long time, to a time when he could hardly remember- particularly not now.

After half an hour of sieging the wall, Erik finally stopped, as he grew wary. He sank onto his haunches, curling inward with hopeless despair as he buried his teary eyes in his hands.

Slowly, Erik's fingers entwined themselves in his dark hair, tighter, tighter, until they balled into fists. His erratic breathing became steady but shaky with rage. His fingers loosened just enough so his red rimmed, black eyes could look out in the darkness.

He was getting out. Out of the dark.

…

I bet you that Carlos and Raoul are related… As well as that jerk Olrik (from All is Fair in Love and War, another fic o' mine…)


End file.
